The Scandalous Life of a True Lady by Bárbara Metzger Read Free Book Online Page B

lie about his own name?
    *
    Simone, meanwhile, remained in Lydia Burton’s private sitting room, hoping to be fetched before dark when, she supposed, gentlemen callers would begin arriving. Mrs. Burton was all smiles, bringing her tea and small sandwiches, so Simone assumed she was satisfied, even gratified by what Major Harrison had said on his way out. The madam appeared to know that the arrangement was not finalized, for she kept giving sly hints on how to please a gentleman.
    Simone almost choked on her meal. Men do that? They want a woman to do…what? Surely an older chap like Major Harrison would not expect…?
    Gracious. All her mother had told her was that she’d enjoy it with the right man. Simone remember asking what would happen if the man in question—her young curate—knew as little as she did. Her mother, half French and half Gypsy, had laughed and said men were born knowing how to do it. If he did not, he was not the right man. Simone tried to put thoughts of her mother out of her mind. And thoughts of Major Harrison, naked.
    Lydia gave her a brief lesson on protecting herself against pregnancy, and a little pouch with a sponge. Simone doubted Major Harrison could father a child, if he did not suffer palpitations trying, but she accepted the gift and the advice. Then she let her curiosity overcome her reticence by asking, A If you are so well versed in…in pleasure, why did the major not invite you? That would have been less costly, less time-consuming, less chancy for him, since he knows me not at all.”
    Lydia laughed. “What, sleep with old Harry? Why, we’re like sister and brother, nearly raised together.”
    Simone stared hard at the madam. No cosmetics in the world could disguise the decades between her age and that of the old officer.
    Lydia must have caught her look, for she amended, “We’ve known each other forever, it seems. Asides, he needed a new face.” She laughed again, and again Simone did not get the joke. “Everyone in town knows my phiz and my reputation, and knows Harry and I aren’t lovers. So that wouldn’t fadge.” She patted Simone’s knee. “He wants a younger filly, to make a real splash. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, if you play your cards right. Now listen…”
    And here Simone thought all she had to do was lie quietly while a man took his pleasure. She’d heard that some women recited hymns, meanwhile, or composed shopping lists. The act never took too long, Simone gathered, having chanced upon gropings at various houses where she’d been employed. The novels she’d read spoke of fervid kisses and fevered brows, not much more. Fool, she called herself. Of course there was more to sex than that. People would not fornicate like rabbits if they did not enjoy it. So many sermons would not be preached against it.
    Simone tried to ignore the reminder of church teachings, too. In fact, she wished she could ignore the whole uncomfortable subject. “Um, how many gowns do you think I’ll need for the trip?”
    *
    The coachman finally came for Simone at Mrs. Burton’s, but he did not apologize for the delay. He did not get down to help her into the carriage, doff his cap, or introduce himself. The boy on the driver’s box beside him jumped down, grinned, and tipped his hat while he opened the door for her, which was reassuring. She was anxious enough over facing the major without facing his servants’ disrespect.
    Lydia had given Simone a coal-scuttle style bonnet, so she had no fears of being recognized by Mrs. Olmstead, if the fat old gossip-monger were at her window seat as usual. She must look like just another fast woman with a knot of fake cherries on the brim of her bonnet, going to meet her latest lover. Only Simone wasn’t, not yet.
    Oh, Lord, what was she doing? Maybe she should jump out of the coach now, before it was too late.
    No. With her luck she’d be run over by the wheels, or get so scraped and battered no man would want her, not even a